


The Kiss of Death

by TheKissofMidnight



Category: Vinland Saga (Anime), Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Manga & Anime, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25173763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKissofMidnight/pseuds/TheKissofMidnight
Summary: Come to me, as our inhibitions crumble. Please don't fear me. The flightless bird dreams of a sky. Whose colors blend into the wrong shade of red. I tried to block out the banging on my door. Are you the one banging on it? Or is it someone else?Will your lips taste the kiss of death?-Kiss of Death written by Hyde
Relationships: Bjorn (Vinland Saga) & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	1. Bjorn

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello! I finished reading the Vinland Saga manga a while ago and I've been wanting to make a fanfic for the longest time. So here it is! The story is pre-manga storyline (so basically its a story before the actual VS story begins). It's kind of my take on what Askeladd and his gang may have been up to before the original timeline events. My inspiration for the story is based on the song Kiss of Death. If you're not caught up in the anime or manga, I'd suggest at least catching up on the first season of Vinland or the prologue portion of the manga.

She’s staring at him again.

Those bright eyes, like pools of honey in the sunlight, stare at him unabashed. Any other time he would have looked away and cursed himself for the warmth he felt in his face and in his loins. Her eyes are beautiful, unlike anything he had ever seen. But she is an easy woman to spot in a crowd. He had never seen someone with skin darker than his own. He’d likened it to warm cinnamon, contrasted by the pitch blackness of her curly hair. And her hair is so long, reaching all the way to a round bottom. Her womanly curves are more prominent than any woman he’d ever seen and often he would dream of his fingers caressing along smooth skin. 

She sits across from him on a wooden box, the blaze of the campfire and blackness of night create strong shadows and highlights along her face. Bjorn remembered the first time he’d ever laid eyes on the ‘Witch’, that’s what the men had taken to calling her. His comrades are rather boisterous; some are gathered around one another and retell stories of battle valors, and others converse about a potential war. It’d been two weeks since the woman joined their band; Bjorn had been entirely against it, still is, but the captain was sure in his decision. She claims to be a healer, and if there’s any truth to war approaching then maybe she would prove useful. But so far she’s only proved to be a pain in his side. He hates when she stares at him. 

“Stop looking at me.” he says aloud, not once breaking her eye contact. Her lips curl into a mischievous smile. The hulk of a mastiff lying at her feet suddenly perks up, staring up at his master. 

“You’re the one looking at me.” she says back, the flames dance in her honey eyes. 

Bjorn grits his teeth and forces away a pulse of anger, “I don’t know what game you’re playing at,  _ woman _ , but I refuse to be a player in it.” he’d seen her do it to the other men. Make them seem like they were crazy. And anyone who went to Askeladd about her behaviour, the captain brushed them off. Bjorn wouldn’t allow her to mess with him; he is the second in command for a reason. 

“I’m not playing at anything,” she reaches down and scratches under the mastiff’s dark maw. “You intrigue me, is that so wrong?” 

Bjorn feels it again, that rush of warmth spreading in his face and pelvis. He decides to ignore her and tries to find entertainment in the flickering of the flames. 

“Don’t you want to know why?” her voice is soft and low.

He refuses to look at her, “Why what?” 

“Why I think you’re intriguing?” 

He shouldn’t care and mentally scolds himself as his eyes glance at her. Her sleeved dress covers most of her skin, but the fabric fits a little too well. The collar dips, creating a V at the start of her cleavage. 

“Why.” 

Her smile widens, “You do what you’re told.” 

Bjorn stands, feeling anger flare inside him like an erupting geyser. In just two steps, he’s close enough to the woman to stare down at her. He is a large man, larger than all his comrades. Most men are intimidated by his height alone, but this woman, this insufferable woman, just smiles up at him as if there’s a shred of innocence in her body. The mastiff at her feet stares up at him; Bjorn didn’t particularly like dogs, but he and the mastiff had grown on each other. The dog sniffs at his feet then stands and stretches before trotting away. 

“I’m sorry. I think you took that as an insult,” the woman says, “It’s a good trait to have.” she stands and to his utter shock she grasps his hands. Her skin feels like the petals of a flower. And now that she’s so close her scent, an earthy yet sweet musk, makes his trousers feel unbearably tight. Bjorn should not have approached her like this. 

“I don’t know how to obey very well… perhaps you could give me a lesson someday?” her expression shows nothing but sweetness, even as she walks away from him. Leaving him with his thoughts. 

He should never have approached her. 

“That one is going to eat you alive, friend,” his captain’s voice is like a safety net thrown into perilous waters. Bjorn turns around, finding Askeladd not too far off sitting against a tree. The older man spins a dagger in his hands, expertly twirling the blade along his fingers. “I’d be careful if I were you.” 

“She’s a woman,” Bjorn says, “And I don’t understand why you let her travel with us.”

“ _ Kara  _ is a healer. A good one at that,” Askeladd stabs the dagger into the ground, “Uncle Gorm vouches for her, and that old bastard rarely uses nice words.”

“She was his thrall?” Bjorn queries. 

Askeladd laughs, “Hel herself would freeze this world before that woman becomes a thrall. She happened on his village a year ago. He claims she’s the best healer he’s ever seen.” 

“If that’s so, how’d you get your uncle to give her up?” 

“He doesn’t own her, Bjorn. Kara came to me, demanding to be a part of the band. Of course, with her skills, why would I say no. And uncle was absolutely livid,” Askeladd brushes his blonde goatee with his fingers, feeling along his mandible in thought, “But there’s something else about Kara. Before Gorm’s village, how did she manage on her own? A young pretty woman on the road, that in itself is like dangling meat for predators to take.” 

“Maybe she had help?” Bjorn suggests. 

“As far as I know, she came to the village alone… but maybe she did have help. I don’t know, I’m just an old man with a withering memory.” 


	2. Bjorn

The following morning Bjorn was awake before anyone else. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and spent the entirety of the night pondering his captain’s words. Not a single day in his life had Bjorn ever felt threatened by a woman but he could admit to himself there is something unsettling about the ‘Witch’. Her scent still lingers in his memory and the feel of her hands- those soft delicate hands… Bjorn shakes his head, willing away the image. He rolls up his pallet and organizes all his things before stalking away into the woods. 

This early morning is a little cool and there’s a thin sheet of mist hovering over the woods’ floor. The tree’s have all their leaves, blocking out much of the cool grey sky, but pockets of light slip through the leaf boundaries, creating spotlights here and there. There’s a lot of moss and the humidity is just right for fungi to grow. Berserker mushrooms are difficult to find, but it’s worth the search. The red and white spotted fungi give him an advantage in battle, and personally he likes the euphoric side effect. He passively searches for them, though they’re not the reason he ventures out.

When he’s far enough in the woods, far enough where no one would hear him, he stands before the trunk of a tree and undoes his trousers, pulling the waistband down just enough to free his cock. It’s been half hard since he woke up and it doesn’t take much to complete its transition. He thinks of the woman again; he thinks of her honey eyes, her curves, the width of her waist, her breasts, her thick thighs, her thick ass, her unusual but striking brown skin, her dark curls, her scent, and her touch. He grips his girth and pumps, stroking his cock at a regular pace. He closes his eyes, he thinks of the woman touching him again.

How would her hands feel along his face? Down his neck and chest? Rubbing his arms, tracing sculpt muscle? Along his abdomen and then lower… a moan escapes his lips as he feels blood and heat congregating in his cock. “I don’t know how to obey very well,” he remembers her saying, “perhaps you could give me a lesson someday?” and with a loud grunt, cum shoots out his cock, staining the tree bark with white spurts. He squeezes his girth, milking it until there’s nothing more. Bjorn stares down at his cock and curses himself for thinking about her.  _ She’s the only woman in the band, the others likely picture her while spending themselves. _ He tucks his cock back into his trousers and heads back to camp. 

The band is gradually stirring awake. Some of the men are packing away camp. Bjorn was about to yell at everyone else to get up, but he pauses. His eyes catch the woman sitting beside Hallr, a new recruit. She prods at Hallr’s exposed back, her hands gliding along his skin. Bjorn grit his teeth and storms over to where they are. Hallr looks up at Bjorn, the man’s murky brown eyes widening at the sight of the second in command. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” The question is directed at Hallr, but the woman answers. 

“My friend has a pulled back muscle. But it’s not so bad, try not to lift anything heavy for a week. And don’t sleep on your back.'' The woman pats Hallr on the shoulder, and smiles at him- but it's a friendly smile, not like the one last night by the campfire. Hallr thanks her and pulls a tunic back over his head before going back to his duties. 

“Is there something you require of me?” She's wearing a different dress. This one is looser around her curves, hinting at the dips between her waist and hips. The collar is higher, not even showing her collar bones. Bjorn clenches his fist; he had no reason to come to her, and yet he did. 

“My neck, it’s bothering me.” he doesn’t know why he lied.

“You’re really tall, you’ll have to sit down so I can examine you.” he takes Hallr’s spot and removes his dark sleeved shirt. The woman regards him and he sees a playful glint in her honey eyes. 

“You didn’t have to remove your shirt,” Bjorn curses in his head and goes to cover his torso, but her soft hands gently take hold of his own, stopping him. She then places her hands on the sides of his neck, adding pressure with her fingertips. She’s awfully close to him, standing in between his legs, and her scent wafts into his nose, making him half hard all over again. 

“Does it hurt when I press down?” She says. He shakes his head; there isn’t any pain to begin with. “Well I don’t feel anything that could be troubling you. As far as I can tell, you’re fine. Maybe you’re sleeping in a way that’s straining your neck?” the woman steps back, to his dismay, and places her hands on her hips. 

“Or maybe you’re faking it.” 

Bjorn crosses his arms, feeling defensive for no reason. “I am not.” her full lips form a pout and maybe she wanted to argue, but with a dismissive sigh she turns away from him. Bjorn stares at her backside and a sudden vision of the woman on his lap flashes in his mind. He curses and wills it away. 

Summer is in full effect and as the weeks pass the rumor of war becomes less of a rumor. The captain decided to find rest in a port city called Tønsberg. Bjorn had never set foot in the busy city. He knew generations ago, a Danish chief conquered the country of Norway. But despite the current ruler being of Viking heritage, he enforced the worship of a false Christian god instead of the Norse Gods. Bjorn, out of boredom, decides to visit one of their Christian churches and is disappointed to see the Christians’ ‘Savior’. 

The wooden curvature of the man is sickly skinny and splayed on a cross. His hands and feet are nailed to the board and just below his diaphragm there’s a wound bleeding down his hollow stomach. A crown of thorns is upon his head and his face is pained. A bald headed priest, who is dressed in the dark garb uniform, tells him about the story of Christ. “He died for mankind's sins, so that all of God’s children could be redeemed and have a place by his side in the afterlife.” the priest says. Bjorn thought it a stupid story. A real man has to prove his valor on the battlefield; only then would Odin’s Valkyries take his soul to Valhalla to become an einherjar. A warrior needed no one to save them. 

The church didn’t satiate his boredom and he’d visited so many places already. He walks down the dirt path of a crowd-less street, wondering what to do now. The King of Norway, apparently, found out about Askeladd’s rampant mercenary band in the city and he was summoned to the chief’s domain. There’s only one reason a King would bother with them- Bjorn had fought many battles but he’d never been in a war. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Bjorn pauses from an annoyingly familiar voice. He glances behind him; the woman is so close she could reach out and touch him. He hadn’t heard her approach at all. 

“Askeladd told me to find you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading!


	3. Kara

Bjorn walks ahead of her, metaphorical fumes spouting from his head. An hour ago Askeladd had asked her to fetch his second in command. Fortunately, one of Odinson’s many talents is tracking and the mastiff easily sniffed out the large man’s location. For a trivial reason Bjorn became upset. “He should’ve sent one of the men.” he had said but it’s obvious he didn’t want a woman telling him what to do.  _ Men are so simple _ . Kara didn’t respond to his foolishness. She follows behind him quietly but Odinson sticks to Bjorn’s side. She isn’t sure why the mastiff has taken to him. 

Half an hour later, they reach the tavern, a longhouse close to the shipping docks. The entire band is here and they’re causing a raucous, like usual. A group of men surround a fist fight, whether it's serious or just drunken fun, Kara never could tell. Askeladd sits at a table at the far end of the hall, his analytical blue eyes are transfixed on nothing in particular. Bjorn takes his place at Askeladd’s opposite. When Kara sits beside his leader, the larger man crosses his arms and glares at her. 

“You have no place here.” Bjorn sneers. Kara ignores him, feels the heat in his dark eyes from doing so, and looks up at her captain. If anyone would shoo her away, it would be the boss. Askeladd glances at her, his eyes light and present. He doesn’t tell her to leave but he doesn’t tell her to stay. So she stays. 

“King Olaf has asked for our assistance,” the captain says, his voice low but loud enough to be heard in the noise. “A little weasel rallied up enough common folk to start an uprising in the North, they’re refusing to convert to the King’s religion.” 

“And?” Bjorn says. 

“ _ And _ , Olaf is adamant that everyone pray to ‘Christ the Savior’.” 

“He’s a King. I’m sure he has a sizable army to enforce his rules.” Kara conveys and forces herself not to roll her eyes at Bjorn’s scowl. 

“He has the numbers. But the men in the North are not your average common folk. Somehow they gathered enough gold and silver to hire Jomsvikings to their cause.” 

Bjorn narrows his eyes, “You want us to go against Jomsvikings?”

Kara was well acquainted with Jomsvikings. She loathed them more than anything on earth. 

“What better opponent to fight for a chance in the halls of Odin.” Kara says. 

“I don’t fight to die.” 

“None of us do,” Askeladd intervenes, “We fight for money. And the King is offering us what the peasants up North are giving the Jomsvikings. With that amount of coin, we could lay low for several winters.” 

“What makes you think the King will keep his word?” 

Askeladd leans forward, resting his forearm on the table surface, “I saw it in his eyes. He is a man of honor, and it is a sin to lie.” 

Once the sun went down, Kara leaves the tavern bringing with her a plate of raw lamb meat for Odinson. The owner had scolded her for allowing the dog inside previously, so the mastiff usually waited at the main door. Upon seeing his master, the dog rises on all fours, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling out his muzzle. He leans against her legs and she almost stumbles from his weight. 

“Stop that Odinson!” Kara laughs and scratches behind his left ear, his favorite spot. She places the plate on the ground and waits patiently as her furry friend eats his meal. The night sky is littered with dusts of white and the light of the crescent moon illuminates the city. The salty scent of the sea travels with the wind, the sound of ocean waves is subtle. 

Kara remembers stories her mother used to tell her; generations ago, their Nubian ancestor traveled far from her homeland, farther than most explorers, and found herself in Norway. Where she settled in the vast country remains a mystery and generations later her descendants migrated to Denmark. As Kara closes her eyes she can picture her village with perfect clarity. It was an unusual village; long before she’d been born, the inhabitants learned to live in harmony with nature. The village was surrounded by forest; oak trees grew through the middle of homes, flora was left to grow wild, and gardens of fruits and vegetables were plentiful. Although the villagers used the assistance of horses, the animals could roam where they pleased. Even the livestock roamed.

It was paradise and it had been reduced to ashes.

Kara places a hand on her womb; her eyes scan the stars and she wonders if her mother and her ancestors could see her from so far away. 

Odinson trots behind her, still licking lamb blood from his chops, as they return to the inn. Her room is rather small, but it’s better than sharing with anyone else. Almost a month ago, the band had stopped at a Danish settlement and she’d been forced to board with the captain. She didn’t trust him but her distrust for the others was stronger. For a Dane he was respectable; in fact the only time he was ever in the room was to sleep. Nonetheless, as a woman it’s better to room alone. Kara kneels before wooden crates filled with her things. Most of the crates contain necessary tools for healing: herbs, salves, bandages, tweezers, blades, and rune stones. 

When the men call her ‘Witch’ she knows it’s meant in a derogatory way, but she really is a witch. They were common generations ago, but Kara wouldn’t be surprised if she is one of few left. Every year, as the Christian belief spreads, the Norse religion becomes more myth than reality. Kara knows the Gods’ strength relied on belief and they are weaker than they’ve ever been. Kara rummages through the crates and when her fingers feel smooth metal she carefully pulls out piece after piece of armor. The last to come out is a golden helm with owl wings molded on the sides and chain mail hanging from the back. The inside is lined with black dyed silk. Kara feels the inside, feeling the smooth rim and down the cold chain links. It’d been years since Kara donned the armor, but now she had a reason to. 

The Jomsvikings have come and if that man is still amongst them she would be the one to drive a sword through his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Kara

_ The throbbing in her head intensified. Slowly she stands, swaying as her equilibrium tries to right itself. She takes in her surroundings through squinted eyes and holds her arms, rubbing them to bring warmth to her skin. She is in a forest, the almost black bark of trees is familiar. Through the black she can see a blazing light cutting through the dark. A sudden dread fills her heart. She stumbles forward, ignoring the pain in her head. As the trees part her eyes take in the sight of her home engulfed in flames like a sudden and consuming storm. The heat is intense and burns her skin and singes her hair. The small house is on the verge of collapsing, and just through the flames she sights a silhouette trapped in the inferno. Kara screams and rushes towards the flames, but it's too late.  _

Kara sits up in bed and clutches at her chest. Her breaths are ragged and sweat sleeks down every inch of her skin. Her face and chest feel like it’s on fire and her head feels like a hammer was taken to it. She pulls back the fox fur blanket and tries standing. The floor feels ice cold on her feet. Kara clenches her teeth, the banging in her head is worsening. She tries simply putting one foot in front of the other, yet her efforts are fruitless; her legs give out and she falls to the floor. Odinson barks and is by her side in an instant. He sniffs at her face and whines. Kara struggles to her feet. She rubs at her eyes and becomes panicked as her room distorts and blurs. She holds out her arms and steps carefully as to not bump anything. She manages to make it out of her room but her strength leaves her. She leans against the wall, not able to make it any further down the corridor. The heat is too much, her body feels like it’s burning from within. Odinson whines and barks and nudges her face with his snout. Kara curls into a fetal position as her vision blackens. And she is pulled into darkness. 

_ The small house is on fire. And the silhouette trapped inside screams and flails as the flames lick at it’s body. Kara rushes into the flames; her flesh blisters, boils, and chars as the heat and fire devour. There is no pain, only an unrelenting need to rescue what is left of the body before her. As she nears, tears slip from her eyes at what the silhouette has become. It’s only a burned, black skeleton now, nothing like the beauty it had once been. It stands there wailing as if in mourning. Kara grabs the skeleton by the shoulders; there’s so much she wants to say yet her voice does not come. The silhouette’s skull tilts and it’s empty eyes sockets seem to pierce straight into her soul  _

_ “Where were you?” a ghastly voice booms from it’s mouth as the house collapses on itself.  _

_ Kara closes her eyes and feels a welcome rush of cool. She opens her eyes and finds herself suspended underwater. Rays of light manage to break through the surface, flashing upon the older man before her. His white hair is single plaited down his scalp and the braid extends over his shoulder and down his broad chest. His right eye is shut and there’s a long, thin and puffy pink scar starting from his wooly silver brow and ending at his cheekbone. The exposed eye is a lighting blue, and like lightning seems to strike through her. He’s looking at her, but not quite seeing her. His white beard is long and kept together by two braids down his chin. His muscled arms and torso is pale and bare and mapped with scars. A bear fur is wrapped around his waist, the black blending into the black of his pants. Kara tries to speak, but nothing comes from her lips. The man brings a single finger to his lips and his one eye looks up.  _

Kara stares up but it's only the wooden ceiling. She groans, the faint pang of her headache lingers. Out of habit, her hands find her womb and her fingertips smooth along the surface. Her last episode was about three months ago.  _ The frequency is increasing and the symptoms are worsening _ . Kara sits up and her heart skips when a cloth plops onto her lap. She touches her forehead, confused as to how it got there in the first place. In fact she remembered being in the hallway before passing out. She looks around her room, finding nothing out of the ordinary, until her eyes fall upon Bjorn. She sucks in a breath, holding in a shriek. His eyes are closed, he’s right beside her bed sitting against the wall. Odinson is snuggled on his legs.  _ Did he..?  _ Kara lifts the blanket and her heart drops- she’s naked. She examines the flesh of her inner thighs and her womanhood but there’s no bruising or aches and sharp pains, nothing to indicate she’d been violated. She knows Askeladd and his men rape women. Some of them have tried making advances towards her but thanks to a little spell she could easily fend them off. But she had been vulnerable this time. Gods know how long she was unconscious. And if Bjorn is here, likely he was the one to find her.  _ But why is he still here?  _

Kara lies on her stomach, her eyes taking in the man by her. She could admit he’s handsome. Wild dark brown hair falls past his neck. His thick brows are relaxed, his lips are slightly parted. His upper body is exposed and her eyes wander, examining the countless scars on his skin. There’s one long scar that slashes down his abdomen in an askew line- she’s always been curious of how he got that. Bjorn has rather large arms; his bicep alone is just about the size of her head. Kara reaches out and fingers a small pinkish scar along his shoulder blade. Her fingers trail down, touching the many others along his arm. The act makes her drowsy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Bjorn

It’s late in the evening but he isn’t ready to retire yet. Bjorn sits at the edge of his bed, turning a wooden block in his hands. The carving knife is just an arm’s reach away, but he hasn’t touched it yet. He stares at the block and wonders what to create. His fingers touch along the edges of the cube; it’d taken a few days just to make the perfect smooth shape. He’s about to reach for the knife when he hears scratching at his door. He puts the block on the bed and with a few strides he’s at the door, swinging it open. His brows furrow, there’s no one there. And then he hears a troubled whine. 

He looks down and frowns at the mastiff. Dark amber eyes stare up at him. The mastiff woofs and then trots down the hallway. Bjorn stares after the dog, but it's not until the dog stops and stares at him that he realizes he’s supposed to follow. Most of the band are either at the tavern or asleep, so the halls are empty. Turning a corner Bjorn halts at the sight of the woman on the ground, huffing and wheezing. The dog licks at her face and whines. Bjorn doesn’t think; he hurries to her side, pulling her into his arms. Her skin is slick with sweat and her face is haggard. 

“Hey! Wake up! What’s wrong with you!” he yells as he taps her cheeks, but she won’t come to. He pulls her further into his arms and lifts her up, carrying the woman into her room and placing her on the bed. He palms her forehead and a spike of panic overtakes him. She’s practically on fire! He doesn’t think, he starts removing her dress. Once it's over her head and out of the way, he regrets the action as his eyes drink in the view before him. Her dark nipples harden from the sudden chill. Her cinnamon skin is drenched in sweat and seems so supple. The dog barks and Bjorn snaps out of his stupor. There’s a blanket bunched at the side of the bed and he covers her body.  His actions are automatic. Bjorn went to the well on the outside of the inn, filled a basin and brought it back to the woman’s room. He soaked a cloth and with delicate strokes wiped the sweat from her face and neck. Then he left the cloth on her forehead and re-soaked it when it became too warm. He sat by her bedside and eventually fell asleep. 

His eyes feel heavy when he wakes; faint sunlight peeks through the open window, shining directly on his face. He feels a weight on his lap; the mastiff’s head is on his thigh and the dog is fast asleep. He looks up and is surprised to see the woman’s face almost level with his own. At some point in the night she had stirred and shifted. She lies on her stomach and a slender arm is draped over the side of the bed’s frame. Her thick curly hair is tousled over her face. The blanket had also shifted in the night, her hips are covered but everything above is bare. Bjorn gently pushes away the mastiff’s head; the dog groans but makes do with the floor. He stands and stretches out his legs and back. He stares down at the woman, specifically at the size of her bottom. He truly has never seen an ass like that; every male instinct within him screams at him to feel her. He could envision himself, squeezing and massaging her fat rear. Bjorn scratches at his beard and wills away his perverse thoughts. Any other woman he would’ve mounted her in a heartbeat. He didn’t have qualms about ravaging women, but this one… there’s still something unsettling about her. He looks around her space and spots wooden crates squished together in a corner. He checks again that she’s asleep and decides to investigate. 

There’s nothing out of the ordinary. He finds things a healer should have. He finds dresses of various colors, and one ivory silk cloak- something you’d only find in a Jarl’s possession. He finds misshapen stone tiles with various old runic symbols embedded in each one. H e couldn't read the symbols. The runic alphabet is different from its predecessor- only _seiðr_ practitioners, people he didn't think existed anymore, would possess rune stones.  In the last crate he finds armor. The pieces are slimmer and light weighted, more fit for a woman’s build than a man’s. The iron pieces are embedded with gold and silver; the left shoulder piece has an insignia he’s never seen before; an almond shaped eye, with a single thick and black lash that curls from the end of the eye. 

The last piece in the crate is a helm, entirely gold and shiny. Wings are melded into the sides and the visor is two owl shaped eye holes. He places the helm and armor pieces back into the crate. _Why does a healer need armor?_ There isn’t even a sword within the collection. Bjorn stares behind his shoulder; the woman still sleeps, but a leg has found its way out of the blanket and also drapes off the side of the bed. The blanket has shifted again, revealing more of her flesh. _Fuck it, I don’t care if she wakes up._ When he’s close enough, he touches the small of her back with his fingertips. It’s just as he’d imagined, soft and smooth. He follows the length of her spine, feeling up her back. He fingers her black hair; it feels like silk melting on his skin. That unsettling feeling returns as he moves strands of hair out of her face. She has long black lashes. Her voluptuous lips are a rich chocolate color. Her perspired skin glistens in the light, giving her a warm glow. 

Kara is enchantingly beautiful. 

A rough bark nearly makes Bjorn flinch out of his skin. The mastiff is up and sniffs at his master’s face. The woman rouses, her eyes fluttering open. The sun’s rays pour through the window, and her honey pupils are ethereal in the light. 

“Good morning Odinson.” she says gingerly. He didn’t know how she’d react to his presence; he certainly didn’t expect her to get out of bed. She wraps the fox fur blanket around her body and pads over to her many crates. The mastiff shadows her, his tail wagging furiously. When she takes out a leg bone, that may have belonged to a little goat, the dog becomes ecstatic. He takes the bone and chews his treat. The woman rummages through her things once more, this time revealing a small sheepskin pouch tied closed with straw. She brings the pouch and reluctantly he accepts it. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” the woman says, “I know you didn’t have to and I appreciate that.” 

Bjorn touches the back of his neck and decides the floor induces less anxiety than staring at her face. 

“You were passed out on the floor. Are you sick or something?” 

“I wouldn’t call it an ailment. Sometimes my temperature gets too high and it makes me weak.” 

“Everything happens for a reason.” 

“Yes, there’s a reason. But I’m not telling you.” she turns away from him, dismissing him. Bjorn grits his teeth and with a sudden impulse he grabs her from behind. His arms wrap around her middle and he cages her against his body. Even through the fox fur covering, he could feel her curves. 

“I could have you right now.” he presses his nose in her hair, scenting sweet milk and honey. She doesn’t struggle, like he expected. Instead, he feels her soft hands run along his bare arms at a tortuously slow pace. 

“I won’t stop you.” her voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking her words. The little pouch she’d handed him drops to the ground. He clutches her breasts and gropes and squeezes fat flesh. A lecherous whimper escapes her lips and every drop of self control within him flees. Bjorn seizes the fox fur cover and rips it in half. Immediately he caresses her brown skin, running his hands down her stomach, gripping her waist, clenching her thick thighs. One hand ventures along her inner thigh, inching closer and closer to her womanhood. But he doesn’t get the chance to feel her there. The knocks on the door completely crush the moment. The woman pulls away and he has to force himself not to grab her again. She hurries to her crates, searching through one and producing a dress she promptly pulls over her head. The door opens; if it were anyone else Bjorn would have rammed their head through the door. 

Askeladd’s blonde brows rise, “Bjorn?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. Kara

The band set sail at noon; the waves are calm and the frequent breeze brings relief from the heat. Kara sits across from the Captain. Odinson rests by her feet, chewing on a deer bone. Even though she can’t see him from this position she knows Bjorn stares at her. Had they not been interrupted last night, she would’ve let him do whatever he desired to her body. He is a brute but he cares for her, even if he won’t admit it to himself. And it's been too long since she’d had a man. Kara thinks about the way he fondled her last night, like a starved dog. 

“Have you considered my request?” Askeladd says as he pops a piece of salted herring into his mouth. In the morning, he had come into her room, disturbing a heated moment. Bjorn had been very aggravated and stormed out. Had he stayed he would have heard a brief conversation between the witch and his Captain. 

“I don’t think you understand how dangerous your request is,” Kara crosses her arms as a strong breeze sweeps along her skin and hair. “I don’t think you value my being a witch, nor do you have absolute faith in  _ seiðr.  _ Magic is not something you trifle with.” 

“I’m not asking for a grandiose ceremony around a bonfire! All I need is for my men to believe they’ll win against Jomsvikings.” ever since the Captain told his men exactly what they were up against, there had been some unrest amongst the band. Kara is sure most of them are seasoned fighters, but it doesn’t change that they’re sellswords. They don’t have a warrior’s courage. 

Askeladd drinks from a sheepskin flask and finishes the rest of his herring before speaking again. “How hard can it be to ask a little favor from the Gods?”

“When you call upon Gods it should be a last resort.” 

“Surely there is something you can do to give my crew morale? I am but a man. Just because I say we’ll win against the greatest warriors of the sea doesn’t mean they’ll believe it. But coming from a witch of the Gods! They’ll think themselves invincible if they believe the Gods are on their side, and men who think themselves invincible are easy to use.” 

Kara narrows her eyes, “You finally show your true colors.” 

“Between you and me,” Askeladd leans in closer to her, the volume of his voice dropping, “I could care less if every single one of these assholes died.” 

“Some captain you are,” Kara laughs. “Fine. I’ll assist you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

* * *

As daylight shifts into dusk, Hallr assists Kara in setting up a proper pallet on the deck floor. Most of the men didn’t even bother with blankets; Kara doesn’t know how they sleep so well without a cushion under them. It’s a lengthy process of piling fur on top of fur until there’s a thick enough layer to be considered comfortable. However, Hallr never complains. He’s the youngest of the crew and Askeladd had assigned him as her own personal assistant since she’d joined. He’s a quiet boy and has more patience than the average grown man. When she determines her sleeping pallet is decent she sends the boy away. Odison flops onto his side at the foot of the pallet, already dozing off. Kara lies on her back, her gaze to the black sky scattered with stars. There’s not a single cloud in sight yet she could feel the onset of a storm. It is an unusual gift she’s had since childhood. The element of wind and the domain of sky are the most welcoming. And in the midst of a storm, the  _ seiðr _ within her is strongest. 

The voyage is short lived. By the third day, Askeladd’s ships cruise near the Norwegian shoreline inching closer and closer to Sognefjord. On the fourth day, the band sets camp in the woods of Bjordal. The King of Norway’s army is a day behind and would land in Ortnevik, the closest either could get to Fresvik without coming into direct contact with the enemy. The band manages to finish their encampment before the storm hits. Though obscured by dark rain clouds, the moon is full tonight. Kara ventures out from her tent, standing barefoot in the center of camp. She tilts her head back, closing her eyes as the rain kisses her skin. The wind is strong, blowing back her hair, and the sound of thunder is not too distant. An unusual sensation tingles beneath her skin, like many fingers pressing and prodding. Tonight is the perfect brew for spellcasting; there would be no need to rely on Gods, the elements of sky are strong this day. 

Suddenly she is jolted out of her concentration. Kare glances behind her, eyeing Bjorn. “What are you doing out here! You could get sick!” he yells. 

Concern dwells in his eyes as he promptly shields her with a long cloak. She says nothing as he leads her back to her tent. He stands a pace away, waiting for her to return inside. But a few spells come to mind. Askeladd didn’t ask for anything specific, only for his men to believe they would win against Jomsvikings; a broad request. 

“I’m cold,” her voice is tantalizing and thick with fervor. “It is unfortunate we can’t light a fire in this weather.” 

She doesn’t have to see him to know he’s entranced, “what would you have me do?” he says. 

“What would you recommend?” Kara suppresses a giggle when he sucks his teeth. 

“You are insufferable, do you know that? Say what you want of me.” 

She almost feels bad at how easily he succumbs. Of all the women to be enamoured by, he chose the worst. 

Kara turns her head, a teasing smirk on her lips. “Will you keep me warm?” 

His eyes, like gallons of oil thrown into a bonfire, flares with a burning lust. He practically pushes her into the tent, coming up behind her and clawing at her wet dress. Kara slaps his hands away, giving him a disapproving frown. 

“I am not a woman to be pillaged.” that kind of forced fornication is swift; there’s no passion, no drawn out playing and groping, only an ache that lifts after spilling seed. The tent is not tall enough to stand, so he’s on his knees showing a surprising willingness for patience. 

Kara reaches down, gripping the hem of her dress and pulling it over her head. The chill prickles at her exposed skin, causing goosebumps and a brief shiver down her spine. Purposely slow, Kara crawls to her multitude of furs. She sits in the very center, her bottom touching the heels of her feet and her hands lay flat on her thighs. Bjorn hasn’t moved, but his breaths are heavier and the front of his pants show his arousal. Kara nips at her bottom lip, her cheeks flood with heat. She’s glad Odinson isn’t here; matter fact she has no idea where her mastiff ran off to. 

“Take off your clothes.” she says and another wave of hot desire travels down her body as he obeys. He removes his boots, then long jacket, then shirt, then pulls his pants past his ankles. Kara sucks in a breath; his cock, blushing and swollen, is already dripping from it’s head. He approaches her, caressing his hands up her thighs and gripping her waist. He’s so close now; she can feel his breath on her lips. And his earthy, god send, scent clouds her mind. She takes his face into her hands and kisses him, for a moment forgetting herself. A deep groan emerges from his throat. His hands lower to her ass and roughly he pushes her onto her back. Kara gasps as his teeth sink into her neck, not hard enough to draw blood but it would certainly leave a mark. She arches her back, her breasts smoosh onto his pectorals. A weak moan escapes her. 

Bjorn chuckles darkly, “you like that, pet?” 

“Pet?” Kara smoothes her hands along his shoulders. “You think of me as something tamed?” 

She smoothes her hands down his chest, his hard abdomen, reaching down, down, down. A deep rumble emerges from Bjorn’s chest as Kara grips his cock. 

His hips jerk into her hand, his breaths becoming quick and sharp as she pumps him. Kara watches his once controlled expression grow lewder; he shuts his eyes, his jaw tightening as he gets closer to his climax. And just as he’s about to go over the edge she immediately seizes her actions. Bjorn stares down at her, his brows drawn together in confusion. 

Kara drinks in the sight of him; his breathing is labored, his skin is drenched in sweat. Her legs wrap around his middle and her hands snake up his back feeling thick muscle. It is then she remembers why she invited him into her tent, why she seduced him into lying with her. Every inch of this body is imbued with power, a natural trait of a Berserker. It is said Berserkers descend from Skinchangers, beings who could transform into the most vicious animals. Such blood, potent with magic, is a rarity amongst men and is the perfect catalyst for manifestation. But she would do so much more than her Captain’s bidding. 

“I want to be on top.” Kara says. He seems reluctant at first. Perhaps he’d never had a woman mount him before nonetheless he complies. She straddles his waist and with the utmost sweetness kisses and nips at his collarbones. Just as she’s kissing down his sternum he suddenly pushes at her shoulders. Kara sits up, staring down at him in question. And what she sees makes her weak in the knees. Bjorn’s entire face is red, a bit of drool slips out of the corner of his mouth.  _ Has he never been touched like this?  _ It takes everything in her not to laugh; for a man so intimidating amongst men it's disappointing that his skills in pleasure are severely lacking. But that would change, she would make sure of it. He belonged to her now. 

Kara leans back down, pecking his lips. “Too much?”

“N-no,” Bjorn props himself with his forearms, “More, I want more.” 

Kara continues, this time pressing her lips so close to a nipple, she feels him shiver. She smiles against his skin and teasingly licks at his hardened nub, feeling pleased when he gasps. She takes it into her mouth, sucking and nipping. 

“Gods.” his head falls back. She feels his cock on her ass, throbbing with need. 

Kara ghosts her lips over his abdomen, the sound of wind and rain is loud enough to mask her whispers. The chant is relatively simple and the surge of energy she feels from the wind element amplifies the spell. “ _ I beseech thee, Keeper of oaths.”  _ She speaks in a lost language. 

She grabs his cock and taunts her wet pussy. Bjorn’s whole body is flush; he holds her ass in a vice grip, as if it’s the only thing keeping his mind grounded in the moment- though he’s far gone. Kara eases onto him, her lips parting into an ‘O’ as he stretches her. She hadn’t been properly prepared, and tried not to wince from the brief but sharp pain. 

“ _ I beseech thee, Vár _ ,” the spell continues even as she whimpers from being filled by Bjorn’s fat cock. 

“ _ I desire this mortal’s devotion, and submission _ ,” she gyrates on his cock, pressing her palms onto his chest as an anchor. Bjorn is gasping and moaning so deliciously, thrusting his hips of his own accord. His pubic hair tickles at her clit, the sensation is almost distracting.

“ _ And he will desire me, for as long as he should live, _ ” Kara pushes down onto him, pushing him past the point of no return. 

“I am yours,” Kara grips his throat, a demanding look in her eye, “say it.” 

And without hesitation he obeys, “I am yours.” he can’t contain his cry as he climaxes. His hips twitch as he fills her insides with hot seed. Tears stream from his eyes; he’s lost in the euphoria. 

Kara finishes the spell.  “ _ I seal this vow with a kiss. _ ” 

she leans down and places a long, sensual kiss upon his lips. He wraps his arms around her middle, biting and sucking on her lips. Kara can’t contain a fit of giggles. It’s always the headstrong men who are so easy to fool. She wonders how much time will pass, before Bjorn realizes what she’s done. Kara breaks from the kiss and lies her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It pounds against his ribcage, still reeling from his orgasm. There’s a connection there, an invisible link subtle and thin like a spider’s web. But with time the connection would grow stronger. Even if he can’t see it in himself, there is a gentleness in his heart. With time, perhaps she would come to love him. But what she needs is loyalty- no one in this corner of the world lasted long without it. 

Kara waits until he’s fast asleep before performing the next spell. She produces a small blade from her knapsack, a slender and curved blade meant for slitting the throat of small cattle. She carefully takes Bjorn’s left hand, pressing the blade into his palm. A thin line of blood beads along the blade. She doesn’t need much, even just a drop would do. She licks his hand, wiping away excess blood. Then she covers herself with a cloak and steps out into the rain. She finds the center of the encampment, like before. She feels that same surge of power, the strength of wind rushing inside of her like a possessive ghost. It is a simple spell, in exchange for the taste of a Berserker’s blood the wind would strengthen Askeladd’s men with resolve, whisking away their fears of death. 

The following morning, the change is immediate. As the longships set sail from the shores of Bjordal, the crew is livelier. Kara overheard some of the men betting on who would kill the most enemies. Askeladd joins her, overlooking the ocean starboard of the ship. 

“You don’t have to tell me what you did,” Askeladd starts, his arms folding across his chest, “but I’ll be damned if it didn’t work.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Thorkell

The woman underneath him continues to squirm, much to his annoyance. He had warned her beforehand how large he is and she insisted she could take it. The pained look on her face clearly proves her wrong- and he wasn’t even halfway inside. He pulls out of the woman, unable to finish and no longer in the mood to keep going. He rises from the bed and in a few strides is by the window, propping it open to let in a breeze. He could count on one hand the women he'd properly fornicated with. Most of them were thicker women, and the one on his bed is rather slim. She has a little mouth too, there’s no way she could take him that way- and after he’d put in so much effort to try and prepare her. Thorkell crosses his arms and sighs; pleasing himself is no fun, but at this rate… 

“Why’d you stop?” it's the woman’s high voice. He glances behind his shoulder and sees her sitting on the edge of the bed, her face curtained by long blonde hair. 

“You weren’t enjoying it.” to an extent he did care about a woman’s pleasure. He certainly wasn’t going to keep hurting her. 

“I… I’m sorry my Lord Thorkell.” 

He sighs heavily through his nose, “You don’t have to stay. You can leave, if you want.” he doesn’t know why she apologizes and is glad to hear the sound of shuffling and the door opening and closing. 

Thorkell goes back to his bed, plopping down on the feather stuffed mattress. The wooden structure complains of his weight, but he knows it won’t break. He spits on his right hand and tries to picture something enticing in his mind as he grabs his cock. A woman, a thick woman, with prominent curves and huge breasts. His member really wasn’t that long, the main issue is it’s abnormal girth. It couldn’t fit in most women, and if he tried forcing it in, like tonight, it just hurt them. He manages to get his cock hard again, and his massive palm perfectly envelopes it. He imagines thick thighs straddling his waist and a fat ass pressing against his cock. 

A harsh groan slips out his lips as he pumps. Pre-cum slips out the tip of his cock, streaming down his length and adding a layer of lubrication. It’d been so long since his cock could fit perfectly in a pussy, but he remembers the sensation. The warmth and slickness surrounding his flesh, the ease of his girth thrusting into a hole that could take it. He grips his cock firmly, sliding his hand up and down his length with increased vigor. His hips join in, matching his strokes. 

“Shit.” he grounds out. He didn’t like jerking himself, but he’d be damned if he isn’t good at it. The head of his cock bulges and darkens, and as he quickens his hand, he feels on the verge of erupting. He strokes closer to the tip of his cock, and grits his teeth as he climaxes. A pool of cum floods out the tip, drenching down his hand and cock as he continues squeezing and stroking, forcing out as much cum as possible. 

The euphoria is pathetically short lived. Thorkell doesn’t even bother cleaning himself. He remains on his back and stares at the ceiling, a few thoughts coming to mind. It’d been two weeks since the Jomsvikings arrived in Norway. He remembered visiting this country a few times as a young boy, but this would be the first time he experienced battle on these lands. His elder brother, the Chief of the Jomsvikings, had been adamant that they win against the King of Norway. “He seeks to destroy our way of life.” his brother had said. But Thorkell cared less. It didn’t matter who worshipped who, as long as there’s a war to be in the middle of he had no complaints. 

The next day Thorkell found his second in command, Floki, sitting in the corner of the mess hall pondering over a map. Even though he’s younger, Floki always reminded him of a grumpy old man. His square face is always bunched together, perpetually in a state of disdain. His dark blonde hair is short cropped and well groomed. He usually kept his mandible shaved, but a little stubble pokes out of clammy skin. 

“You’re working too hard friend.” Thorkell greets, sitting across from him. He halts a serving girl, ordering a horn of ale and bread, sausages, and porridge. 

Floki regards him with cool grey eyes, “In less than two days a force of nine thousand will land at Ortnevik. We need a plan.” 

“Are you conniving without me?” Thorkell leans into the table, propping his elbow on the surface and palming his chin. “I am your senior by a few years, so I know my memory can be faulty, but I do recall the Chief giving  _ me _ command.” 

Floki’s face twisted further, his scowl deepening. Thorkell glances down at the map, seeing little wooden figures placed strategically on landmarks. 

“You know what your problem is, Floki,” Thorkell picked up a few boat shaped pieces, moving them down Sognefjord towards Ortnevik. “You think you’re clever. But someone like me will always be better than you. You know why?” 

Thorkell continues moving around pieces, eventually getting an answer once Floki realized he had to respond. 

“Why.” 

Thorkell smiles at him, “It’s simple. Your little plans don’t matter, because I’m stronger than you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! This story will eventually merge into the original storyline, so you'll get to see all the other characters that appear in the manga/anime. Also, feel free to follow me on tumblr (@kissofmidnight)


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